


Two times first

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Twelfth Doctor and a lowly coffee shop worker, not long after Trenzalore, just regenerated, very tired, very lonely, very scared.<br/>This was meant to be one shot smut, and it is my first fanfic, but I have lots and lots and lots of bits of stories just sitting there, waiting, biding their time and some bits wandered into this. </p>
<p>So no real smut in this chapter, and who knows how many chapters there will be. And yes, I was inspired by the red velvet coat.....*wibble*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two times first

**Author's Note:**

> I have an irascible taste in music, but I’m still going to tell you what I was listening to (plus you can imagine these were playing in the coffee shop) – LMFAO – Party Rock Anthem, Duffy – Mercy, Talking Heads – And She Was, Foxes – Don’t stop me now, Hugh Laurie – Tipitina, Peter Gabriel – Sledgehammer, Robbie Robertson – Broken Arrow, Stevie Wonder – Superstition, The Sonics – Have love, will travel, Bingo Players – Get up (Rattle) [honestly, I probably should be banned from youtube], Alex Clare – Too close, Super Preachers – I feel happy

Not quite a generic coffee shop, but probably one more than the town needed. I wondered if there was a critical mass of coffee and charity shops and then the town would disappear into the Hellmouth like Sunnydale. I really needed to get out more if I was still referencing almost 20 year old tv programmes. I could almost hear the glare of the customer waiting at the counter. Enough reverie, serve more people. I was really too old for this, doing this when you’re 20 and working multiple jobs to make ends meet is fine, when you’re hitting 50 you don’t want to burn the candle at both ends and the middle. I plastered on my very best smile and my most interested expression and asked them “how can I help you?”......”what would you like to drink?”......”perhaps something to eat?”....The bit where I played, “guess what the customer would order” and “on a scale of 1 – 10 how likely were they to be a serial killer” only kept the boredom at bay for seconds at a time. Small scale bets on tea v coffee, latte v espresso only got interesting when it was time to pay up on Friday. To really rev up the excitement I swapped out from behind the counter to go clear tables and get the crockery back to the kitchen. Ah the joys of being run over by yummy mummies with pushchairs and sticky toddlers, pushed by business types with papers and messenger bags (no, it doesn’t make you hip) and harassed by old ladies berating me about the youth of today (crap, I need to dye my hair, now I’d let it go white [silver if I was feeling perky] they’d decided I was one of them). 15 seconds leaning against the inside of the kitchen door, a few cheery words to Harry battling through the washing up and back into the fray. The tip jar was looking decidedly empty, no treats for me – maybe there would be some leftovers being thrown out at the end of the day that would come my way. This was pathetic, my biggest thrill was hoping for leftovers, truly, truly pathetic.  
It was late afternoon and things were winding down, not quite time to put chairs on tables and start mopping the floor, but definitely time to wipe down the tables without customers, replace the menus, refill the sugar, search for the condiments and straighten the artwork. I looked at the pictures, they’d been there longer than I had, still with the same price tags on them, and to the best of my knowledge none of them every sold. Several of the staff had already left, the owner wasn’t in today, and they knew I was too soft to say anything and quite able to lock up without them. The stupid bell over the door sounded, indicating a late customer – so much for an early lock up. I walked back to the counter and then smiled. Oh, today was definitely looking up. It was far too long since I had seen him and now here he was. God, he looked tired, his eyes were blood shot and his skin was dry and papery. Nevertheless he was still dressed like a magician and wearing too many layers for an English heat wave (insert laughter). He walked about to the counter and stared blankly at the menu and the chiller cabinets. I was still smiling and went to say, how good it was to see him, and then realised the blankness didn’t just extend to the menu, he had no idea who I was, no flicker of recognition. He’d warned me about this, time travel wasn’t chronological (which I admit made bits of my brain go crispy and burn, but I’d smiled and nodded as if I remotely understood) – but this was obviously what he was trying to tell me. One day I would meet him and he would never have met me before. He asked for a coffee, and I told him to pick a seat and I’d bring it over to him. I looked round to see that the other remaining customers had left, so I turned the sign to “Closed” and locked the door. I selected a cupcake from the display, I really couldn’t resist, red velvet with cream cheese frosting to take over to him with his coffee. He had chosen to sit right in the back, near the bookshop and he had a pile of books already on the table and he was running his fingers over the page of one of them. I paused to watch his fingers, remembering them, and smiling more.  
I placed the drink and cake in front of him.  
“I didn’t order this” – he said, looking at the cake.  
“It’s on the house – last customer of the day special” – oh, how lame was that?  
He poked his finger into the frosting. His glorious eyebrows as always continuing to act as if they were independent from the rest of his face, indicated extreme suspicion. How could a man whose job was monsters be fazed by a cupcake? He went to wipe his hand on a napkin and I cracked. I lifted his hand to my mouth and licked the frosting from his finger. He was better than any dessert, the hit of sugar, the salt of his skin and the essential taste that was purely him. However, he, he was outraged – his expression appalled. Then it hit me, if he hadn’t met me before, everything he had told me, all he had been through, he had still faced alone. 900 years on Trenzalore, alone. River lost to him and he was still too unsure, too stupid or too scared to be with Clara, to tell her he loved her. His expression had changed to shocked and embarrassed, I was still holding his hand and rubbing small circles on it with my thumb.  
So what, it was only the second time I’d met the man, but oh, the first encounter was seared into me. And if he had made the first time I’d met him so special, I was beholden to reciprocate. Lost in reverie, I realised I hadn’t spoken and the Doctor was rising from his chair.  
“No, stop, wait! I can explain!” really? Could I? I wasn’t sure I could make sense of it myself.  
“Doctor, this is the 2nd time I’ve met you, but I have a feeling its the first time you’ve met me.”  
I smiled at him, still holding his hand and waited for him to say something.


End file.
